Why Virgins Are In

A virgin. No, REALLY.

The lack of good specimens in our vicinity has started to grate on us Happy Single Girls. (in more ways than one, I'll have you know...hurhurhur) Which has set us on a path to look for greener, fresher, riper....pastures.Unfortunately we have come up short. Men in our vicinity are either taken or too dirty. It really has come down to those two categories. Taken or Too Dirty.

Men in our vicinity... and why they aren't options:
Specimen #1: Cayenne Client
Well he's sort of the right age, drives not one but TWO Porche Cayennes (kaching!), is well spoken and well dressed...
Verdict: Too Dirty (he also happens to voice out his desire to see you dressed as a mermaid in very public very serious meetings and can't control himself if you wear a low cut top)

Speciment #2: Nice Bone Structure
He is lovely really. Nice guy, nice cheekbones, nice voice...nice nice. And cool too. Cool friends, cool style, cool house.
Verdict: Taken ( by an equally nice girl with probably cooler friends and cooler clothes...*pout*)

Specimen #3: Sport Supahstar
Hot, sexy, young, makes a pretty decent living....Oh, and famous. Did I mention Hot, Sexy AND Famous?
Verdict: Too Dirty (To be expected of a hot, sexy, famous and young boy I suppose.  Too many skankyhobagalots where he's dipped his famous marker pen into)

Which brings us to wish and hope for the one thing that isn't taken or dirty....
The virgin.
At least...with them...you're guaranteed some form of cleanliness and since the skankyhobagsalots haven't gotten to them yet, they are single and ripe for the picking.

Need we say more?

Year of the Number 1

My I-Bf, TOP

Happy New Year folks! 
I declare 2011 officially as the Year of the Number 1. Singledom reigns this year and I for one am undaunted. I think I can safely say I have never been happier as a single and I have to say, this is all due to the fact I have found the secret to being so...well, damn happy.

The answer folks is simple...an Imaginary Boyfriend. Yes yes...I found myself one. I always dreamed of Imaginary Husbands but an Imaginary Boyfriend is so much more fun. Husbands, albeit imaginary require some degree of commitment but I-Bfs require no such loyalty. You can have him for as long as you want, flit between his friends, marry him some days...dump him on others for other obsessions...Splendid arrangement really.

Why I Love My Imaginary Boyfriend (I-Bf) 

>> He is handsome. 
(Obviously when choosing the I-Bf you probably want to go with someone who makes your mind go blank at the mere sight of his face.) My I-Bf has been declared the Hottest Man in Korea 2011, so we know his beauty is palpable. This also ensures that there is no shortage of his image in every imaginable pose being thrown at you on a nearly daily basis.


>> He is a superstar. 
This is the I-Bfs most important quality. He needs to be so famous that there are always people out there happy to document his every move and activity for your viewing pleasure. The more famous and stalked he is the better for me I say. It feels as if I'm REALLY part of his life because I know his schedule better than say I know my own.

>> He has cool friends. 
I'm lucky. My I-Bf has a bunch of friends just as famous or probably more famous than he is and all are just as pretty as he. It's important because should you tire of your I-Bf, here are his friends to distract you while you take your time out from your beloved. Sometimes, I cheat on my I-Bf with his best friends...It's okay. Having an I-Bf allows you to do that. He will never know.

>> He makes me laugh.
My I-Bf genuinely makes me laugh. Sometimes I'd remember some stupid thing he said or did and literally start guffawing. I'm again, lucky. It just so happens that my I-Bfs sense of humour really appeals to me and that he seems to have turned into a comedian of late. Of course, if you choose an I-Bf who happens to be a professional comedian, even BETTER!

>> What he does makes me happy.
He makes music that makes me happy. So you laugh, what happened to the indie girl who listened to proper, interesting music? Here's what I have to say...if it makes you feel like dancing, feel like a champ, feel like laughing, feel like having fun? It's good for you.

>> He is available on request. (And unavailable when you ask him to piss off)
Probably the best thing about an I-Bf, really. Conjure him up when you need him most and forget about him when you've got better things to do. He doesn't complain. And you never have to put up with any of his negative traits. (except maybe his being TOO goodlooking and your having to read comments by hobagskankysluts who want to do rather unmentionable things to him).

>> My friends approve of him.
Who wouldn't though? Some of my friends even indulge me as much as to have I-Bfs of their own who happen to be his friends. This takes the imaginary relationships to the next level because it's as if your lives are all interlinked. Friends with I-Bfs of their own is a kewl thing. Just make sure you don't have the same I-Bf (which can happen more often than not) as your besties. That can be sticky. Luckily, my friends and I have vastly different tastes.

And there you have it. Why I am the happiest a single girl can be. It's quite simple. I highly recommend it.

And no, I haven't lost my marbles.

Ok, a bit. teehee.

Stories to consider

So I heard this story but it has to be told in the language I heard it in else some of its fantastic nuances...

Overheard:
Random person: So Dato', I heard you got a woman on the side.
Dato: Ye ke? Siapa kata?
RP: I knowla. You set her up with a place in London.
Dato': Ah, tulah.
RP: Who is she?
Dato: Does it matter?
RP: So how did you meet her?
Dato: Jangan hebohkan ye, kat email!
RP: You met her through email?
Dato: Ya she emailed me. Said she interested in me.
RP: So you started with her through that? How did you know what she was like?
Dato: Kan internet boleh send gambar?
RP: Oh so she sent you photos of herself.
Dato: Ya ya. You wanna know why I started the affair?
RP: Why?
Dato': Kan she sent gambar...I tengok. Wah bes, Tektek BESAR!

And there you have it folks...The reason men choose to have affairs. Mind you, this Dato's wife is a very classy, beautiful woman of substance. But obviously, not with a rack that can compete for her husband's attention....

Translations: 
Dato': Malaysian term for a dignitary position
Ye ke, siapa kata? : Really? Who said?
Tulah: I see.
Jangan hebohkan: Don't spread it around
Gambar: Picture/Photo
Tengok: See/Saw
Wah bes, tektek BESAR: Wow, great! BIG TITS!

Erm..PS.

Thought I'd just say....while I've been congratulating myself and posting about someone who finally makes me happy....the truth is, well, TECHNICALLY...I'm still very much, single.
HAHAHA HOOHOO HEEHEE *maniacal laughter*

I prefer to refer to myself as "Single but Taken"."Mentally Married". "Availably Unavailable"

Although this may seem slightly insane, I assure you I am perfectly, if not a little kooky, sane.

And although this may be a very strange way of finally attaining the impossible, I am actually still very much single and actually the happiest I have ever been as a single.
Let's be honest, when I started this blog, I was pretty angry..incredulous really hence, the vent outlet.
Later on, when I was sort of on my way to being alright, I started to get jealous of girls and went all insane (but funnily I might add) and ranted more.
For the most part, this blog was meant to be an outlet for me and my friends (FSGs) to commiserate. 

Right now though, most of my FSGs are happily loved up (with nice real boys) while others are super busy and don't have time to lament their singledom.

As for me, I'm very happily mentally married (to a real boy of course who just isn't physically here at the moment). A great state of mind to be in when you have great tasks at hand. Like for instance, making money.

The truth is, my infatuations allow me to be so loved up that I no longer have it in me to even despair at my reality of singleness. Which is fine by me and fine by those closest to me. But what I don't understand is, why others can't be happy for me when I am so clearly, finally, the happiest a single girl this side of a blog can be?

He Eats Chocolate Raisins

I think I owe you guys an explanation. Apparently I complain a lot on my blog. Some disgruntled boy seems to think so since he took so much offense to my simply pointing out (in jest of course) that white boys are over. Oh well, basically, this blog IS a place to complain. If you don't complain, there's basically nothing to write about. I find usually the best things to laugh about are the situations that get your panties in a twist. If you're happy, clappy, then you aren't wry or sarky or all that interesting to read.Simple, really.

So I've been neglecting my blog....And the only way I can explain it is, I guess is well, I don't have anything left to complain about....

---------------------------------------------
 A Letter to the Imaginary On Finding The Perfect Man....

Dear You,


I guess there never is a last letter that you write to the someone you've been pegging all your hopes, dreams and whatnots to since you could remember. So this isn't the last of course but it is a departure of sorts. I am writing to you, not to beg you or to lament the absence of you but rather, I write because I want to tell you how glad I am that you, for the time-being, do not need to exist. 


So what happened you ask? You see when I used to write to you, I lived in the fantasy that you may one day materialise into a real life boy. Someone whole and perfect and everything I had made you up to be. I needed to believe that you would save me from whatever it was that I was running from. I needed to believe that you would be there waiting for me. You just had to find me.


But then one day while I was wallowing in self-pity at having come up short of finding anyone that lived up to you...out of nowhere, I found him. 


I found him, just like I thought I would between the black and white. He was standing, quite predictably on the ocean's edge. In him I have found someone who simply makes me want very much to be a better version of myself. In his very existence I have found an immense relief. He is real. He lives and breathes. He has a name. He even has a dog. His voice is his own. He even dreams...big gorgeous dreams of wonderful tangible things. Our worlds, although so very far apart, collide in some places. That very fact, that we collide even on the thinnest string of fate, rejoices me. This is a cliche of the most basic sort but since him, from here on out, I will never be the same. Since him, a part of me will always be whole.

And so I guess, I will have no longer have a need for a figment of my imagination to fill in that gap.

La La La La

Sorry.
This blog has been seriously neglected.
I'll give you a few reasons...
The first being....I've been in love. Yeah. Really. So you can't rant much about being single when you're so blissfully infatuated.
The second being...I've had a break up. Yeah. Really. Same person I was in love with. Still am...
The third being....well the third being....
Fuck. Who cares?

Here you go...my reason or rather reasons for neglecting this blog.

Why White Boys Are Over

 It's official. White boys are over. 

When you live in an Asian country. Surrounded by hot Asian chicks who are mostly gung-ho on bagging themselves some pasty dude, it's time to look for greener pastures. Thank God, I've never been one to shy away from some mixed flavas myself. Teehee.

Why White Boyz are over:
1) Too pasty. (unless they're blessed with skin that tans well and makes them into Golden demiGods...the only Lobsters I wanna deal with are the ones in yummeh seafood restaurants).

2) Too douche-y. (having sniffed around a bunch of wifebeater-wearing, no-lense bespectacled, Fabio-esque 'douchays' last weekend, I decided that douches become UBER-douches when they're surrounded by naive Asian chicks who think they could be the Yokos to the Douche-y  'Oh-Nos')

3) Too stiff. (hurdehur. I mean, as in, white boys generally don't have smooth moves to go with the smooth grooves. I wouldn't go out dancing with a white boy unless of course, he's Wade Robson, Channing Tatum or Justin Timberlake...srsly now).

4) Too boring. (generally white boys tend to get fun only when they're drunk or on drugs. What happened to getting high on life, boyz? Also emo white boys and their emo music...PFFT.Only so much you can take.)

5) Too weak.(White boys in Asian countries? Weak. Can't eat hot curries. Can't smell a Durian. Can't take the boiling heat. Can't go to a squatting loo.Can't bribe the Popo. Can't whack back an angry Aunty...whiny whiny weak. Blech.)

So yeah, white boys are OVER. To all you SPGs (Sarong Party Girls) who are still adamant to taste some Brachwurst in the land of Sushis and Chilli, I wish you well, I wish you luck. For me at least, I'm going to shy away from my 'roots' and sample the delights of the Fusion tables. AK AK.

Sidenote: Saying this, my Mental Husband it has to be said, is undeniably white. So I am a hypocrite of sorts. But then, my mental husband has trekked the North AND South pole, owns basically the world AND has a tan that makes his look like a demi-God. Oh, and he's funny too. So, basically the rules don't apply to him, because he's perfect. Except, maybe, for being white. Hoohoo.

Playa...Puhleasseee!

Most men think we're stupid...or something. I mean, please give us *some* credit. We haven't lived this long, been through as much shit as we have, to be played by you (and in stupid ways too). Seriously. We are trains and not stations. We have places to be, things to do...we aren't your one stop joyride.

A few things Playas need to regonizzzzeee:

#1 >> Asking us to look at the moon at random times.
Playa, puhlease...every guy who wants to come off as sensitive and soulful has asked a girl to look at the moon. And you know what playa, we seen da moon, we've checked da moon, and it's DA SAME every time yo!

#2 >> Asking us to come over and listen to some music he made.
Playa, puhlease...we know this implies lying on his bed and being really impressed by his musical gifts and fine, if he has real talent this works. However, if he makes music that sounds like whale sounds or if he sits around playing the bongos...we're gonna tell it like it is. Byebye.

#3 >> After a night out when the mood is still high and you're not quite sure what next to do, he offers to come take you to a celebrity after party.
Playa, puhlease...It's cool if you want to impress a girl with your popularity and connections but we also know that the *real* after party you mean, is the 'after party at my body'.

#4 >> Pretend to be really concerned and try to help you get back the yoga lessons that you missed but already paid for.
Playa, puhlease...We're all for you being cute and super helpful and the fact that you prob have a hot body from all that yoga....BUT, we also know that you trawl yoga centres looking for fuck buddies. SEEN! eww.

#5 >> Tell you they feel intimidated by you because you're just so smart and they feel small around you.
Playa, puhlease...If you want a girl to feel as if she's smarter and more awesome than you, don't put yourself down because it doesn't make you look soft and in need of saving. It just makes you look wimpy n sad. Also, let it be known, we KNOW we're awesome. 'Nuff said.

Bang 'Em

One morning, I woke up and decided to wipe my slate clean. That is to say, the proverbial man-slate...I decided to give it a good scrub. What happened was...I found THEM:
 

Ladies and gentlemen...
Let me introduce...BIG BANG!
I've lost it. Totally lost it. Lovely K-Bois will be the death of this single girl. Fohshure!! It's so nice to wake up and think of nothing but lovely stalkable K-bois tho. Heehee Hoohoo Haahaa.

My preferences from Fav to Least Fav:
1) TOP
2) G-Dragon
3) Taeyang
4) Seungri

5) Daesung (I've neglected to include a photo of him because a) for some reason Blogger won't let me put him below TOP which is a NONO, and b) he's not cute to me anyway)

TOP!!!

G-DRAGON!

TAEYANG!Holy body moly!

 SEUNGRI aka VI

How I Failed At Being A Manic Pixie Dream Girl (MPDG)

I've been contemplating the MPDG. That's Manic Pixie Dream Girl to you. Who or what is she? Think Zooey Deschanel, think, Natalie Portman, think Holly Golightly. Yes folks, she's that crazy but seriously lovable, impossibly pretty breath of fresh air and bringer of light and hope to all those lovely Lost Boys.

Read more about the MPDG ...HERE

I've been thinking about her a lot. In fact, I've been thinking about her my whole life and I've figured that my whole life has led up to my failing at being the MPDG.

How I failed at becoming an MPDG...a step by step analysis:

STEP 1: I was ugly. I didn't start off being this impossibly pretty thing (well actually I did, I was a really pretty child if I do say so myself) but then braces, bad eyesight and a butch haircut happened. Also, there was a brief period where I did actually look like an old Chinese/Bhutanese peasant lady complete with permed frizz, scarf wrapped around my face and really pale reddish skin. Not good to the ego and certainly not good to be made acutely aware of your ugliness when you are supposed to be an unaffectedly beautiful MPDG. 

STEP 2: I got emo. When I sorted my 'petty pretty' troubles out (ie. straightened hair, learned the use of eye makeup & contact lenses), I decided to revamp myself into being a Grunge/Goth Chick and got all existential and emo and decided to stay indoors writing my own eulogies. 

STEP 3: I got too dreamy. I actually got really cool at one point and pretty much as close to a MPDG as I possibly could. I lived for nothing in a really cool really posh apartment with a big cat, I partied in all the cool places, I was quite artsy and frequented little record stores, went out with a DJ boy, I even had a cool hobby like writing poetry about people I saw on trains. Yeah! But...being so cool, I started to believe I was a MPDG a little bit TOO MUCH. To the point, I became so oblivious to the real world and decided that I was in fact a character in a film. In other words, the dream girl started to live IN the dream...not good.

STEP 4: I got busy. See, what happened was, I got a job. It was an impossibly cool one at that, but the thing about really cool jobs? You actually have to work to keep 'em. So I started to wake up from the dream and get practical. I didn't have much time to be flighty and carefree and was too tired to be manic.

STEP 5: I met a boy. Then obviously, I had to meet the Dream Boy. Oh you know, that boy lost girls dream about. Tall, beardy, funny, rode a bicycle, read books and played the guitar. So I became the boring girl who had the Dream Boy breath life into my boring life. Figures.

STEP 6: I got angry. Yeah, MPDGs are happy, fun loving people. I on the other hand, wanted very much to put my fist through a wall at any given moment. MPDG + Anger management issues = Plain ol' crazy bitch. 

STEP 7: I got real. Decidedly, I sort of realised that I couldn't ever compete with an MPDG nor could I be one. So I decided that if I couldn't be any boy's dream girl, then I had to be my own dream girl. As in, I'd take steps to becoming the sort of girl I dreamt about becoming. And I realised that that girl, wasn't some flighty, manic ingenue...she was someone who wanted very much to do more with her life. A girl with a plan. A girl who actually helped the people that needed help... So I worked and am working on becoming that instead.

And there you have it. How I failed at being the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Failing though, made me realise I didn't want to be some sad writer boy's fantasy. I wanted to be my own dream girl. The girl who lives her OWN dreams, becomes somebody SHE wants to be.

So to all you fabulous women who have failed at being an MPDG or are in competition with one, don't you worry. You can be a dream girl. It just depends on whose dreams you want to live/be. And hey, being a Real Girl just means you've got more chances with REAL Men. Heehee. ;)